


An Inviolable Attachment

by aleksrothis



Category: 18th Century CE RPF, American Revolution RPF, Turn (TV 2014)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Soulmates, Angst, M/M, no happy ending
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-10-13
Updated: 2016-12-11
Packaged: 2018-08-22 03:34:09
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 5
Words: 6,221
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8271101
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/aleksrothis/pseuds/aleksrothis
Summary: Just in case there are any history buffs reading, I'm going with the TURN timeline rather than the historical one.





	1. in Compassion to kindred blood

They said your mark came once you became a man. For most people it appeared slowly, months of guessing what the name was going to read, one letter at a time.

Benedict’s appeared suddenly on the day of his sister’s funeral. His mother was too overcome with her own grief so he had started the morning wrangling his hungover father into his best clothes. He had stood at his side through the service, doing his best not to cry as his father wept, then taken turns with Hannah at distracting him from further alcohol until all the well-meaning family members and other guests had left.

When he finally made it to his own bed, stripped off his Sunday best to pull on his nightshirt, there it was, on the inside of his arm, just above the elbow. ‘George’ it read in elaborate cursive and when he concentrated on it he could feel a distant pull somewhere south. George, it seemed, whoever he was, wasn’t anywhere near New Haven.

Benedict considered all the stories, the old wives' tales, he'd heard about soulmates. They said if your mark came in faint it meant your soulmate was younger than you, still a child, so, judging by the strong black letters on his arm, his must be a man grown.

A male soulmate was uncommon but most churches in the Colonies recognised such relationships, though they encouraged them to be platonic. It wasn’t ideal, there was still stigma on such relationships since they couldn’t bear children, but an older man might already be settled in his business, even have a family of his own. Benedict would push aside any discomfort if it meant not having to worry about money again.

Still, he had no means to search for George, not when he was lucky his mother’s cousins were willing to take him on as an apprentice. He could only hope he would come to find him, dreamed of his turning up at the Lathrops’ store to sweep him away to a life of luxury.

***

Of course, he has no such fortune. The pull changes in intensity and every time Benedict hopes this will be the trip when George comes to New Haven, but he never does. Between his studying and long hours at the store, he wonders where his soulmate is traveling, why he does so much. It doesn’t help though when he never gets close enough and Benedict has to accept George either isn’t trying to find him or can’t.

As the years pass, his dreams become more mundane and the hope fades. It is clear if he wants anything in life he will have to earn it for himself. He pushes the dreams away as the hopeless fantasies of a foolish child.

By the time Benedict finishes his apprenticeship and sets up his own business in New Haven, both his parents are dead. Hannah comes to live with him, her soulmark having faded nearly as soon as it had appeared, just before news reached them of the massacre at Fort William Henry; it wasn’t difficult to work out what had happened to her Enoch and her grief taught Benedict that perhaps it would be safer not to care about the soulmate he had never met.

He tries to harden his heart but he can’t stop himself wishing, even if he knows it is foolish. He buys trading ships with Babcock, even agreeing to undertake the voyages himself. A weak part of him still hopes he might met George this way, that his travelling is for trade, but it has been curtailed in recent years and he suspects his George must have been travelling for the war.

He takes to the sea instantly, the freedom of being away from the expectations of others, from Hannah’s sympathy. As they sail south, Benedict feels the tug get slowly stronger until one morning he wakes up and it is pulling due west. They are level with Virginia and he wishes he had an excuse to land there; that he knew George was looking for him, would even welcome his presence.

But he has no such assurance and so he resists as they sail on and it begins to pull north instead. They said you could tell a lot about your mate from their handwriting and even more if the mark changed since it always showed their name as it was last written. His George must be well-known by the volume of different hands Benedict had seen his name written in over the years, one in particular recurring again and again, a woman’s hand, perhaps his wife’s, but it always reverts to that flowing cursive within the day.

Benedict tries to tell himself George must be a busy man, being so important, surely he would have looked for him if he could. Over the years he gets used to the familiar feeling of that pull shifting as they sail past but he still wonders if George thinks of him when he feels his location change.

In Honduras he duels a British captain who sees his mark and calls him out on it, saying no gentleman would have another man as his soulmate. He may be a 'damned Yankee' but he will not bear the insult, to him or his mate, and he is vindicated when he forces an apology. Benedict hopes wherever he is George would be proud of him.

The years pass and George never comes to find him. Instead Benedict makes a success of the apothecary business, becomes a Freemason and meets Margaret Mansfield. She had been engaged to marry her soulmate when he died of pox and her father is keen to make her a valuable match. 

Benedict is grateful for the opportunity, tells himself if it is good enough for George, is it good enough for him too, but something is always missing.


	2. if I could be indifferent to your Approbation

He and Margaret have three children, three perfect sons, and Benedict swears he will be a better father to them than his own was, that he will never give them cause to be ashamed of him.

Does George have a family of his own, Benedict wonders, is that why he stopped travelling, why he has never come to find him? That at least he could understand; he travels less now, and the pull from his mark drops to the back of his mind. It is still a constant ache but one he has become accustomed to over the years.

Benedict is in the West Indies on one of his now infrequent voyages when he hears news of the massacre in Boston. He is filled with passionate fervor but back in New Haven life continues unchanged for now.

He is careful never to let his sons see the name written on his arm, they will come to understand about soulmates soon enough and there is no need for them to question his devotion to them or their mother. Margaret has sought no promises of fidelity from him, it is considered cruel in the extreme to demand soulmates remain apart, but he promises her he will never abandon them. His family will never have to want for their material needs.

Still, he knows it will not be long before the boys are old enough to question and indeed the day comes when young Benedict comes back from playing with the other children and he hears him ask Margaret, “Momma, are you and Papa soulmates?”

It feels cruel to leave her to answer alone when she had known her soulmate and lost him. At least George remains just a name to him. Benedict draws his eldest son aside and shows him just enough of his mark that he can see the name is not his mother’s, explaining that he has never met his mate and assuring the boy he still loves them.

When the news reaches them about the destruction of the tea in Boston, Benedict knows it is only a matter of time before matters come to a head and indeed, England makes their position clear in passing the Intolerable Acts. As a merchant, he knows the taxes must be intended to be crippling and, as a patriot, he believes this cannot be allowed to stand.

Then the war comes in truth and Benedict is determined to fight. Let George be the one to watch the writing on him change as Benedict makes himself known. He joins the Connecticut militia with a Captain’s commission and, when they heard of the battles at Lexington and at Concord, they march north to help relieve the siege of Boston.

They succeed but Benedict hungers for acclaim. He has heard Fort Ticonderoga is ill-defended and persuades Massachusetts to commission him as a colonel to lead a force to take it. He arrives in time to assist in the capture of the fort and follows that up with a successful raid on nearby Fort Saint-Jean. 

Though Ticonderoga is taken, he is denied the credit and, when a detachment of Connecticut militia troops arrive to reinforce Ticonderoga and refuse to acknowledge his command, he resigns in what he later admits was a fit of pique.

He is on his way home when he receives the news that Margaret is dead. 

*** 

Newly widowed and with the boys safely in Hannah’s care, Benedict hears tell of a mission to take Quebec and rides to Cambridge, Massachusetts to argue for command. As he travels he feels his soulmate getting closer.

This is the closest he has ever been to his soulmate, who must be in the city somewhere. For the first time Benedict allows himself to think of the great men, in Congress and the army, who bear the name George, chief amongst them their illustrious leader, Washington.

He is introduced to General Washington but, despite the strength of the pull from his mark, the commander doesn’t react to his name. There must be some other George here in the room, or close by. It is a shame, Washington is tall, as tall as him and equally as broad, and Benedict can’t help but wonder what those broad hands would feel like upon him.

Later than evening he is summoned to Washington’s private office. When Washington takes his hands to greet him, there is the spark he had always heard about and Benedict shudders at the way Washington’s hands somehow dwarf his, then he is suddenly bereft. Washington steps back, squaring his shoulders.

Benedict steps forward, following, and reaches for George. This time he doesn’t pull away and Benedict leans towards him, their lips meeting. For a few precious heartbeats it is everything he has dreamt of but George stands there impassive and after a moment pushes him away.

“Colonel Arnold, you forget yourself,” George says.

He is aware of his mouth hanging open in shock before he is able to pull himself together enough to respond. “But, we’re… Don’t you know… You must be aware…”. Couldn’t he feel it too? Benedict begins to pull of his coat so he can show the other man his mark but Washington holds up a hand to stop him.

“There’s no need for that.” His hand goes to the crook of his arm where his own mark must lay. “Of course, I know who you are but I don’t believe that is relevant to the current situation.”

Benedict flushes with embarrassment, here he is behaving like a rake when his soulmate is leading the fight against the tyranny of foreign powers. “I apologise for my over-eagerness,” he says, trying to understand. “If nothing can happen for the duration of the war, then let me do all I can to help bring it to a swift end.”

George frowns. “The war is hardly the only barrier. I am married.”

Benedict nods, he had already heard as much from rumor which had much to say about how that marriage was childless. “I was married too,” he tells him, “though I am now a widower.“

George looks sympathetic but presses on, “You mistake my meaning. I am loyal to my wife.”

He blinks in confusion. Of course, if George would prefer they remain platonic Benedict can live with that. He wasn’t about to demand absolute fidelity anyway, plenty of same-sex soulmates manage to balance prior relationships. “But we’re soulmates.”

“I hardly see that that matters.” The tone is cold, as is the expression on George’s face and his next words are devastating. “I think perhaps you should leave.”

Benedict didn't remember later how he'd made it back to the inn he was staying at, the words 'my soulmate doesn't want me' playing over and over in his mind. What is so wrong with him that his own soulmate would reject him?

It is only the thought of his sons back in New Haven that keeps him from putting himself out of his misery. He has never heard of such a thing before; hasn’t he only done his best to make his way in the world?

The next day he receives the message he is being given a Colonel’s commission to take Quebec but, though he tries to gain an audience, he doesn’t see George again before he leaves except at a distance.


	3. an adjustment of differences

Benedict fights for their country in Quebec, where the freezing weather seems to match the cold inside his chest. He helps launch a daring attack in the middle of a snowstorm, and is shot in the leg for his troubles. With Montgomery dead. Morgan captured, and him out of commission it would be easy for someone to take advantage of the situation so, when he sleeps, it is with a gun by his hand. Perhaps, with as little contact as they have had, George wouldn’t suffer too unduly with his death, but he sees no reason to take that chance, whatever George may think of him.

Whilst he recovers, continuing their siege, he receives a letter from George. Though it comes with the dispatches and is coldly formal, George praises his service and offers his best wishes for Benedict’s recovery. It is the first time his soulmate has reached out to him and Benedict feels something uncurl inside him with the hope he still has a chance to win him over.

He is promoted to Brigadier General and is determined to do his best as military commander of Montreal but with the spring comes more British troops and they are forced to retreat. When Hazen, in defence of his own incompetence, tries to drag Benedict’s name through the mud with false claims of profiteering, he hears nothing from George, and is forced to appeal to General Gates for a character reference. Does his soulmate believe the charges against him? He can hardly bear the thought.

He holds the British off at Saint-Jean and on Lake Champlain for longer than any believed he could. If he can just make George proud of him, it will be worth it. Instead Congress rebukes him for failing to save their makeshift fleet, as though there had ever been a chance of his doing more than thwarting the British advance, and George is once again silent.

He wants to spend the winter with his soulmate, hears of George’s own mid-winter attack on the Hessians at Trenton and wonders if his actions in Quebec inspired it. Then he is plunged into despair again as Congress promote less senior officers over him, in blatant disregard of his capability. In his dreams, George turns away from him and he wakes shaking, unable to get back to sleep.

Still, no-one can deny his successes on the battlefield, even if they will not give him the recognition for it he deserves, and he is sent to north again to fight St-Leger and Burgoyne. When General Schuyler tells him George personally recommended him, Benedict feels a wash of relief.

He puts his fears aside, determined to prove himself worthy of George’s trust. The deception which prompts St-Leger’s retreat from Fort Stanwix is nothing to be proud of but it achieves their objective and Burgoyne remains unreinforced. Saratoga is his finest hour and whilst they hold Burgoyne at bay, he is invited to the main camp to report and carries Gates’ dispatches.

Benedict is full of hope that this meeting will be different but even when he arrives in time to defend George against the accusation of that weasel, Lee, it isn’t enough. The pretty boy officer offers up his seat at Washington’s side and George verbally welcomes him to their camp but he is careful not to touch him and all around the camp he hears the rumors, of General Washington and his stable of handsome young aides.

When he learns Gates’ report of the battle ignores all his achievements, claiming the entire credit for himself, he thinks he understands. It is no wonder George has no little interest in him, refuses his request for a meeting. Benedict doesn’t think he could stand a second rejection and returns to Saratoga before he is sent away.

In a moment of weakness, he is drawn into an argument with Gates, who strips him of his command. He planned to get roaring drunk but hears the sound of battle and refuses to stay hidden away in his tent. Later they call his push courageous, but Benedict knows the truth. He had wanted death, wants it still as the pain which stabs through his shattered leg, matches the pain in his heart. Why should he suffer this alone?

He will never be good enough now, Gates will take all the credit and his chances of recovery are low. When he is told he is being transferred to the main camp he is surprised and more so when he is introduced to Washington’s personal surgeon, but he supposes bitterly it is for their commander’s benefit, not his own. Then the man threatens to take his leg and he fears George intends to cripple him and is afraid; he has a family to support, since he cannot hold out any hopes of having anyone but himself to rely on.

When George himself comes to sit with him, Benedict almost thinks it is a dream. George takes his hand as the surgeon treats him, stays to speak with him a while. George is the one to tell him of his latest promotion and when Benedict complains at how Congress waits until he is injured, George half-jokes that it is because it is only then they realise they could lose him. He supposes the same must go for his soulmate and Benedict can’t hold in his resentment. George’s affection is too little, too late and apparently when George realises he is going to survive, he no longer feels the need to pretend to be attentive.

Worse is still to come when the Marquis de Lafayette returns from Albany. The story of how he kissed the commander in greeting in plain view of the whole camp spreads like wildlife and Benedict feels sick. He tries to tell himself if it just for the benefit of the French alliance but, at the dinner held to celebrate it, Lafayette has pride of place at Washington’s side whilst he is relegated to the far end of the table.

Benedict has learned bitterly not to expect anything but still, when he is summoned to Washington’s tent he cannot help but hope. He is still in pain, but he would do anything for George and at least on a battlefield he can rely on his own skill. Instead he is sent away to a desk job in Philadelphia, George telling him he needs more time to recover and his experience in Montreal suits him to the role. All he can think is how his own soulmate still doesn’t trust him, has never once asked.

While he settles into Philadelphia, forced to stoop to trading deals to support himself, as Congress refuse to pay him, George choses Lee to lead his forces at Monmouth, despite the man’s disloyalty, and then, when Lee shows himself as the coward he is, the command goes to Lafayette. Of course, Benedict cannot compete with the young French aristocrat and the thought leaves him feeling sick.

George’s rejection still burning at him, when Peggy Shippen comes to visit him, Benedict is quick to respond. She is young and beautiful and she wants him, which is more than he can say for his actual soulmate.

Peggy never shows him her mark but he is certain she has one; sometimes he sees her press a hand to her side, beneath her ribs. He doesn’t ask though, certain she has her reasons for wanting to marry a man who clearly isn’t her soulmate.

He wonders, with the way she alternates between hot and cold, if her soulmate is a woman, one of the gaggle of girls she is close to, and she is simply seeking someone who could be a friend. He hopes they can be more than that; he never found that not being soulmates was an issue for him and his first Margaret.

Her father is initially reluctant but he wins him over. He will have the Tories eating out of his hand and prove he doesn’t need George’s support. At the same time he finds himself at odds with Joseph Reed, of the Pennsylvania Council and, when he learns the man spoke ill of Washington even while serving at his side, it sours any interest he had in compromising with the man.

After Reed ambushes him with a writ of assistance, he returns to the main encampment. As much as it galls him, he asks George’s assistance, though he would rather his soulmate would just acknowledge him, Congress would soon change their tune then. Instead, George merely suggests he applies for a court-martial to clear his name.

Desperate to provoke any reaction, he tells him of his engagement but George seems unmoved by the suggestion Benedict is to remarry. He returns to Philadelphia disheartened and only Peggy’s company lifts his spirits.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Just in case there are any history buffs reading, I'm going with the TURN timeline rather than the historical one.


	4. a redress of grievances

For a while it seems as though George’s suggestion is going to work and Benedict returns his focus to Philadelphia, though Peggy is often a welcome distraction. She seems to enjoy his company and doesn’t appear to mind his humble origins, not that he knows if that was the sticking point for George but it has often been a bone of contention for other officers.

Then Benedict learns Reed has managed to overturn the initial decision and he is still to face a court-martial. Worse, the letter informing him of this comes directly from George and offers no support, only additional points for consideration.

It is another blow, yet he cannot bring himself to blame George so he turns his anger on the next best target, Congress. When Peggy suggests she write to a friend in the British army, Benedict is desperate enough to accept the offer but when it comes to providing them information on the location of the Continental Army’s camps, he cannot do it, cannot put George in danger.

He prevaricates, offering slivers of information while asking for a guarantee of compensation, since that is what people like Brown already think of him, and a battlefield command. Let him die in combat with honour, at least.

When Peggy suggests Washington has betrayed him, Benedict is surprised by the strength of his denial and realises he hasn’t truly given George a chance, swept away by his righteous anger at Congress. Instead he decides to make one last effort and formally invites him to their Thanksgiving ball in Philadelphia. To his surprise George actually comes and Benedict would have thought it a good sign except for the presence of his wife, who he makes a point of doting on right in front of him. The message couldn’t be clearer. Benedict wishes he could hate Lady Washington but she is both charming and beautiful, why wouldn’t George choose someone like her over him.

George is much in demand on the dance floor and Benedict almost can’t bear to watch him with other people. Propriety doesn’t allow for two men to dance together unless they are wedded soulmates and he doubts George would agree even if it that wasn’t true. Despite the pain in his leg, Benedict forces himself to take a turn and has to be satisfied with sharing a set. George refuses to meet his eyes but their fingers brush against each other and Benedict knows he can feel their connection too even if he insists on ignoring it.

Still, Benedict pleads with him to intercede over the court martial; if he turns him away now, at least he can say he tried. When George finds him later, Benedict braces himself for rejection once more but fate is kind to him for now and George agrees to take his side.

Towards the end of the night, George asks for a dance with Peggy, and Benedict immediately offers an arm to Lady Washington confident they will be left alone and he can almost pretend it is just two of them.

Of course, though George is in Philadelphia for some days, he finds excuses why they can’t meet up again and, when he returns to the army's winter quarters at Middlebrook, Lady Washington goes with him. Benedict can’t help the pang of jealousy at the thought of her getting to be with George whilst he is alone in Philadelphia with Peggy coming up with excuses to delay their wedding day. 

Finally his court martial comes around and Benedict is vindicated. He doesn’t know what to make of George’s conspicuous absence at the trial and even his acquittal doesn’t bring money nor George’s favour. Worse, the court ordered rebuke comes from George’s own pen.

Benedict has had enough; George has made it more than clear that he owes him no love, nor even loyalty, and Congress refuse to acknowledge his achievements so he writes to André once more. From here on, his loyalty will be to his country alone and seeking an end to this war.

Peggy says nothing about his renewed affections except to agree to finally bringing their marriage forwards. He wonders again at the identity of her soulmate as even on their wedding night she doesn't undress fully, though she traces gentle fingers over his own mark knowingly.

He waits until she is asleep in the aftermath of their love making to take a look, telling himself a man has a right to know who his wife's soulmate is. When he sees it, he thinks he understands, he should have known no-one would want him for himself. There it is, ‘John’ in red ink across her side in the familiar handwriting of Major André.

Heartsick, Benedict says nothing to her of it as he makes arrangements to take command of West Point and to meet with André. Even Washington’s unexpected arrival cannot turn him from his course now and it is with a emptiness in his chest that he negotiates with André to surrender West Point, and Washington, to the British. 

If George is captured the war will be over but it should hurt to betray his soulmate, shouldn’t it? André tries to bargain with him for Peggy but Benedict holds out, he may need that leverage later for Washington’s life, or perhaps he will let them hang George and hope it kills him too.

When the messenger arrives with news André has been caught, Benedict knows he has to run. He won’t force George to kill him, that would be a cruelty too far. Still, he isn’t above sending him one last letter from the ship which will take him to New York. He writes no words of affection, conspicuously speaks only of his love for his country and his last request to his soulmate is to see his wife safely back to Philadelphia.

General Clinton tells him Washington had offered to exchange him for André and Benedict isn’t sure how to feel about that. Of course, Clinton refuses and André is hanged for his part in their scheme. Determined to prove himself to the British, Benedict joins the Loyalist side with a fervor he doesn’t truly feel. Clinton doesn’t trust him and Cornwallis ignores his advice but that doesn’t matter, Benedict is accustomed to feeling unwelcome and he can hardly explain why he always knows where Washington is anyway.

Instead, he asks to be sent to England, hopeful distance will strike the final blow to their bond but his request is refused. Peggy joins him in New York and makes no mention of André, does she even realise he knows the man was her soulmate? Only a matter of months later, Benedict isn’t surprised when the Continental Army is victorious at Yorktown and Clinton finally agrees to his departure.

Even in London, Benedict can still feel the tug but it is so faint and worn now that he can almost pretend it isn’t there. He argues for continuing the war but deep down he is relieved when it is over. He travels to the Canadian colonies, the West Indies, back to England, and each time he wishes hollowly for the life he had dreamt of as a child. Even when his whole family is reunited in New Brunswick, something is still missing.

When Benedict wakes one December morning with a sense of emptiness and his mark gone white, he weeps for what they could have had. News arrives of Washington’s death weeks later and he has had long enough to grieve privately that he can put on a public face of indifference but in truth every day is a struggle.

He barely holds on another two years, hoping he can leave his sons with a better legacy but he cannot seem to find the will to go on. Peggy tells people it is the pain from his shattered leg and he allows her that lie but on his deathbed he admits to her his regrets, begs her forgiveness as it is too late to beg George’s. Perhaps he will find him waiting on the other side...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay folks, this made me cry writing it so I hope it tugs at your heartstrings...
> 
> There is an epilogue to follow so there's that to... look forward to?


	5. Epilogue

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> And to round this out, George's thoughts on his troubled soulmate

When George realises he is dying he has to make the decision; after his death he will have no control over whatever narrative Benedict choses to share.

As a young man, George had only wanted to make his family proud so, when his soulmark came through and the name, though faint, was clearly that of a man, he had promised his mother he would neither seek Benedict out not bring shame on her by entering into such a relationship.

Instead he had focused on his work, his army career, Mount Vernon... When he had met Martha Dandridge Custis she had seemed the perfect wife. And he loved Martha, he truly did, but his heart ached for the soulmate he could never find and when their marriage proved barren, he wondered if it was a sign, a punishment for his attempts to avoid his true partner.

He remembered all too clearly the look on Benedict's face the first time they had met, his joy as they had first touched, and then his shock when George had pushed him away, like a kicked dog not understanding what it has done to deserve such punishment. 

George had had to be cold or he knew he would have caved, how could he turn his soulmate away like this, and his guilt burns at the memory of Benedict’s eyes, his pain and confusion making George feel as though he was snatching food from the hands of a starving man.

Still, Benedict had gone on to great things and George had felt a certain fierce pride every time he had heard of his achievements. He had heard other things too but, though he had wanted to interfere, he had thought it safer not to, to avoid any accusations of favoritism. There was plenty of improper speculation about his choice of aides-de-camp and he would receive no support from his family to protect Benedict from gossip if the truth were to come out.

He had felt it when Benedict was wounded in Quebec and again at Ridgefield, as a sudden sharp shock, so when, after he had deliberately sent him north to assist Schuyler against Burgoyne, he felt an agonising pain and then nothing George hadn’t wanted to look at his arm, certain the mark would have turned white. And he couldn’t bring himself to see, not until the dispatches came from Saratoga detailing Benedict’s injury rather than his death.

George had known it was selfish, that surely Benedict would have wanted to recuperate with his family around him, but he had to see for himself, ensure only the best surgeons treated him. He shouldn’t have been surprised at Benedict’s resentment and, when Benedict threw his privilege in his face, asking what he knew of sacrifice in such a disparaging tone, he wished he had followed his head rather than his heart.

He had arranged for Benedict to be posted safely in Philadelphia, unable to bear the thought of losing him on the battlefield but it turned out that meant losing him in a different way. It shouldn’t have bothered him, Benedict’s young and radiant bride, but he couldn’t deny the feeling churning in his gut was jealousy.

Then it became guilt when news of Benedict’s court martial reached him. If only he had acknowledged their connection, Congress wouldn't have dared snub him as they had and there would have been no need for him to resort to such low business deals.

George had hoped Benedict would recognise his personal note as his true feelings and ignore the official reprimand the court ordered as the paper exercise it was but Benedict offered up his resignation once again and Congress weren’t about to let him turn it down this time.

At least he had taken up the offer of West Point, George had thought. He had been relieved to think of Benedict there so when he had held the evidence of Benedict’s treason he was lost. If even his soulmate had betrayed him, how could he trust anyone again?

He had to bear the guilt that he had driven Benedict to such treachery but there was no time for sentiment, as Commander of the Continental Army he had to be seen to set an example.

At first he tried to negotiate with General Clinton to exchange Benedict for his captured spy. He didn’t know what he would do if the British officer agreed but the thought of facing his soulmate on the other side of a battlefield left him feeling nauseous. Of course, the British refused.

Benjamin helped him come up with a plan to infiltrate an agent into New York. George gave the order to bring Benedict back alive, insisting that an example needed to be made but in truth he needed Benedict to explain to him, face to face, why he had done this. The effort failed and later, when it was clear Benedict had firmly aligned himself on the side of the British he had no choice. 

When George sent Lafayette to Virginia telling him that, if he caught up with Arnold, he was to hang him on the spot he knew it looked strange. He tried to justify it by saying the British wouldn’t follow if he was dead but might feel obliged to for a prisoner but, in truth, he didn’t think he would survive seeing Benedict hanged before his eyes. At least, at distance, he should only feel a brief pain, he had Benjamin’s example to prove that. Of course, Benedict had escaped once more back to New York and then London.

George had made a point of insisting no reprisals are to be visited on any of Arnold's family and wished he could do more but it would only raise questions as to why he was interested in the sons of a traitor.

Then he was flung into the political sphere and it seemed as though he had done the right thing for his country. It was debatable if they would have unanimously elected as president a man with a male soulmate. They certainly wouldn't have if they knew who his soulmate was, Benedict's name quickly becoming a byword for treachery. 

For months after his appointment was announced, George had waited, certain Benedict would reveal their connection to destroy his reputation, or at least contact him, but he heard nothing, only knowing he still lived by the black ink marking his arm.

After two terms George had had enough of public life and retired to the sanctuary of Mount Vernon but with the peace of his retirement he is forced to acknowledge the pain of his thwarted bond. He has so many regrets but it is too late to change things now.

In the end the choice is clear. If Benedict has kept his secret then the least he owes the man is to do the same and he cannot shame Martha either. George has her burn the copy of his will which mentions Benedict and makes Lear and Dr Craik swear to discretion; he will not have the truth about his soulmark revealed after his death. Perhaps once he is gone Benedict will forgive him his mistakes.

**Author's Note:**

> Title is from Washington's Farewell Address. Chapter titles from Arnold's Letter to the Inhabitants of America.


End file.
